


Got Me Open All Night

by ztorylines



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Power Play, Sugar Baby Harry, Sugar Daddy, idk how to tag this, not really but i'll tag it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ztorylines/pseuds/ztorylines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry’s used to this by now but it never changes, the burning need to perform just to hold Zayn’s attention. He might not be witty or talented or good enough for Zayn in any other sense but he can do this. Even when Zayn is the one in control, Harry can still pin him to the bed without even touching him.</em>
</p>
<p>or the one where Harry is Zayn's sugar baby and it's not really about the money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Me Open All Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Atusa because I constantly throw fic ideas at her and never follow through. It's also for Camie because I never would have written this without [your](http://ohnoballoons.tumblr.com/post/126371434230) [damn](http://ohnoballoons.tumblr.com/post/126369308700) [manips](http://ohnoballoons.tumblr.com/post/126365118976). It's probably a mess because I've barely proof-read it but there we go. Title is from Power Trip by J. Cole.

If someone had asked Harry last August what he thought he’d be doing in a year, he probably would have shrugged it off with a laugh. He definitely would not have pictured himself sitting in a scarily expensive hotel suite, about to go to an awards ceremony with a man so beautiful that sometimes it hurt Harry a bit just to look at him.

Sometimes Harry just has to take a moment to appreciate that this is his life now.

When he had first met Zayn at a gallery opening that he’d helped cater for, he was living in London, trying to work enough to pay rent and eat more than just toast. Zayn had seemed untouchable, of a completely different world to Harry with his dark suit and sharp jawline, so when he ended up spending half the night hanging around the long tables of food to talk to Harry, he couldn’t really believe it. He’d thought there must have been some kind of catch because men like Zayn didn’t talk to people like Harry. Harry, who eats oranges in the bath and is probably too enthusiastic about candles. But there Zayn was, appearing genuinely interested in what Harry had to say and making him spill a tray full of prawn and parmesan canapés down his front when he touched Harry’s arm.

From there it had sort of snowballed and Harry couldn’t really complain. Zayn liked to wine and dine him, as well as dress him and fly him places, take him out and show him off. Harry liked the attention and Zayn liked spoiling him and it might have been untraditional but it worked.

Somewhere along the way though it stopped being about the money and the lifestyle and Harry might have accidentally fallen for the way his name sounds on Zayn’s lips and how Zayn looks first thing in the morning, sleep ruffled and soft. Or maybe it was never really about the money, maybe Harry was hooked from the moment Zayn laughed at one of his awful jokes in that gallery, head thrown back as people moved around the two of them.

“You ok?” Zayn asks, pulling Harry out of his thoughts and back to the present. He strokes a hand over Harry’s head, smirking slightly when Harry bats his fingers away from his perfectly styled hair. “Ready to go?”

He nods, meeting Zayn’s eyes in the mirror in front of him. These moments are secretly the ones Harry loves most, when he’s with this Zayn, the version that Harry’s convinced is just for them. Not the public Zayn who poses for cameras and coolly dodges awkward interview questions. But this softer, quieter version who smiles only for Harry.

Harry steps back and inspects his appearance, not even trying to hide his grin at how good he knows he looks. And whilst he might be here more for the man behind him than the money these days, he can’t deny the gifts still make him feel the same - special, wanted. Without Zayn, Harry could never afford to dress like this and it would be a damn shame even if Harry says so himself. He loves it, loves the way the suit hugs his body, accentuating his long legs and narrow hips, making him look older. He loves the smell of the cologne Zayn bought him in Milan and the way he feels taller in his £2000 shoes. He looks like someone who’s worthy of standing next to Zayn.

Zayn seems to agree with him, because he pulls Harry back against him, pressing their bodies tight together. His arm hooks over Harry’s shoulder, hand splayed against the smooth black fabric of his suit jacket. Harry knows better than to melt back into Zayn, instead standing tall and admiring their joint reflection in the floor length mirrors. There’s not that much height difference between them but Harry’s sure the way Zayn carries himself adds an extra three inches or something. They look, well, expensive, is the first word that comes to Harry’s mind and he grins again.

Zayn catches his eye in the mirror before very obviously dragging his gaze up Harry’s body. Harry’s skin burns hot under the weight of his eyes and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to having all of Zayn’s attention on him like that. Like he’s something beautiful and desirable and  _Zayn’s_.

“Come on,” Zayn says after a few more seconds of standing there in which Harry tries to eye-fuck Zayn and fails because he can’t stop smiling at how they both look so right together. He thinks the grin sort of ruins the seductive look he was going for. “We really should go now or Shareena’s gonna kill me for being late again.”

This only makes Harry smile more as he remembers all the events that they barely made it to in time, a last minute scarf hiding Harry’s bruised neck and Zayn’s hair falling around his face from where Harry had his hands in it. Zayn smirks back at him like he knows what Harry’s thinking and Harry’s eyes darken slightly. Maybe they can be late for this one too, Harry thinks as he nudges his head gently back into Zayn. If he just shifts his hips backwards slightly he knows he can get Zayn to agree..

“Stop it.”

Zayn’s eyes are amused but his voice is sharp and authoritative, the tone that gets Harry on his knees in seconds. Harry represses a shiver and drops his gaze, smiling sheepishly at the carpet that’s probably softer than his bed back in the tiny flat he hasn’t been home to in weeks. Maybe he can test that later, maybe Zayn can push his cheek into the floor and fuck into him from behind until Harry has no breath left.

Fuck, he needs to stop before they really are late. Who can blame him though when Zayn is right there, dressed up so nicely, the sleek black of his suit hiding the ink that covers his skin.

“C’mon,” Zayn says once again, guiding Harry towards the door with a hand on his lower back. “If you’re good I’ll fuck you in front of those mirrors later.”

And shit, if it’s going to be one of those nights, it’s going to be a long one.

... 

The event is nice, better than some of the others Harry has attended with Zayn. In the beginning he had found it hard, surrounded by all those people who just seemed to know how to behave. He’d felt out of place with his messy curls and the fact that most of the time he couldn’t walk across a flat surface without finding something to trip over didn’t help either. 

But Zayn was there, Zayn who steadied Harry with one touch, whose presence grounded him like nothing else could. After the first event Harry went to, some charity ball where he had accidentally offended three different people, Zayn had gotten them out of there as quickly as possible, staying only as long as he was needed. They had ordered room service and eaten it in bed, Zayn telling Harry about the time he tripped and spilt champagne all over some woman’s dress, who turned out to be a duchess or something. Then he’d sucked Harry off until he’d forgotten all about the disaster of an evening.

Harry has grown into it now though, is able to fight down any insecurity that still remains because he’s become accustomed to this lifestyle. He knows how he looks on Zayn’s arm and he knows to compliment people, say things they want to hear and flirt just the right amount. Before, feeling people’s eyes on him had made him want to hide, or possibly throw up. Now they make his chest fill up and his mouth draw up in a half-smirk.

His favourite events are the ones where Zayn is actually involved and not just there for appearances, like tonight. Harry’s not sure exactly what the awards are for, but he knows Zayn is up for several for his work with various charities. He loves when Zayn gets the recognition he deserves, loves when other people celebrate him, but he also loves that he’s the only one who gets to see close up just how much Zayn really cares about these causes, how his eyes light up when he talks about them.

The night goes smoothly, Harry mingling but never straying far from Zayn. Sometimes when he’s talking he can feel Zayn’s gaze on him and it makes the back of his neck flush as he remembers Zayn’s promise from earlier.

Zayn wins three awards and Harry beams and claps louder than anyone. He might know how to act sophisticated and detached when necessary, but he can’t contain his emotions where Zayn’s involved, his pride obvious on his face as Zayn gives his speech. They’re not really a couple who like PDA or being too public with their relationship (with the exception of the one time Harry had sucked Zayn off under the table during a meeting Zayn was holding) so Harry knows his squeeze of Zayn’s hand when he returns to his seat is enough to convey how he feels.

As the night goes on Harry finds himself wilting slightly, the champagne and good food making him feel sleepy and sated. He’d been up early that morning as well so he could use the hotel gym, so his eyes are a little heavy and he lets Zayn speak for them both for the most part.

Eventually people begin to head out, moving on to other parties or going home. The slight chill of the night air wakes Harry up a bit as they wait for Zayn’s driver to bring the car round.

Once they’re safely in the backseat, blacked out windows hiding them from the streets rushing past, Harry snuggles as close as he can to Zayn, not caring if he creases his suit. He’s pretty sure he already spilt some food on it somewhere anyway.

Zayn is solid and warm beneath him, mouth hot on his ear and hands rubbing his back.

“Did you even notice how many people were looking at you tonight?” Zayn says quietly, breaking the silence.

Harry turns his head to look at Zayn’s face, sees the slight clench of his jaw and tries not to smile. He honestly hadn’t noticed, hadn’t had eyes for anyone but Zayn, but it makes him shiver that Zayn had, that Zayn was possessive enough of Harry to be jealous of other people looking. He was never angry about it or overbearing, but he was always quick to remind Harry that he was Zayn’s.

“I didn’t notice,” Harry reassures him, nosing along his jawline. “I only saw you. It’s only ever you.”

He attaches his mouth to Zayn’s neck even as Zayn rolls his eyes a bit at that statement. He kisses up the smooth column of skin until he reaches Zayn’s ear, rolls the stud there over his tongue before nuzzling back into the juncture between neck and shoulder. He can feel Zayn’s pulse against his skin and he moves his hips leisurely against Zayn’s side, restricted by the space and not really wanting to start anything until they get back to the hotel.

It feels good though, the pressure, so he sighs and shifts, picks up his pace a bit. Zayn smells like champagne and expensive cologne and a little like sweat and Harry wants to taste so he bites lightly into Zayn’s shoulder, hips working faster now.

Zayn stills him with a hand on his back. “Wait,” he says simply and Harry shrugs, content to stay here wrapped in Zayn until they get back.

When they get to the hotel Harry is still half hard and doesn’t care enough to hide it. They go straight up to their suite and Zayn pulls the chair out from the desk in the corner, places it in front of the mirrors facing the bed. Harry feels a spark of arousal curl low in his stomach.

“Let’s get this off,” Zayn says, pushing Harry’s suit jacket off of his shoulders. He lets Harry do the rest, sitting on the edge of the bed still in his suit.

“Sit,” he tells him, when Harry’s down to his underwear. “Those as well.” He nods at Harry’s crotch and Harry is quick to pull off his briefs, throwing them somewhere with the rest of his clothes.

He sits there for a long minute, feeling himself fill up a bit just at the look Zayn is giving him. They don’t always do it like this, so much space between them and Zayn simply watching, but Harry realises he needs this tonight, needs Zayn’s eyes on him.

He strokes his hands down his chest, swallowing when they catch on his nipples that have hardened in the cool air-conditioned room. Zayn doesn’t stop him, but he doesn’t tell Harry he’s allowed to touch anywhere else either so Harry keeps it up, hands roaming over his own skin. He keeps his eyes fixed on Zayn, whose own gaze is unwavering, taking in every movement.

Zayn looking at him like this is too much sometimes, like he sees every bit of Harry. Right now though, it’s not enough. He wants Zayn to touch him, to kiss him, to calm him where his skin is vibrating with need. He feels antsy, his own touch good but not satisfying in the way he knows Zayn’s is.

He’s whining in the back of his throat now, soft sounds that he likes to pretend are for Zayn’s benefit but really he just can’t stop them escaping.

Zayn’s eyes haven’t left him but he’s just  _sitting_ there, fully dressed, unmoving, face unreadable apart from that telltale clench in his jaw. Harry’s used to this by now but it never changes, the burning need to perform just to hold Zayn’s attention. He might not be witty or talented or good enough for Zayn in any other sense but he can do this. Even when Zayn is the one in control, Harry can still pin him to the bed without even touching him.

And he loves it. It heightens everything, makes him hyperaware of every exhale, every brush of his fingers over his too hot skin. Zayn knows it, of course he does, knows Harry inside out and backwards and up against the wall. That’s why this works for them, because it might look completely one sided to anyone else, like Zayn has all the power, but Harry has just as much of a hold over Zayn.

Harry’s hands are shaking as he drags them slowly up and down his thighs, not daring to touch where he’s really aching. Zayn still hasn’t told him he’s allowed to yet, but he wants to speed this up. He closes his eyes and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, accentuates his breathing and lets his read roll back on his neck, arching his back as much as he can in this position.

He looks across at Zayn from under hooded lids and watches the tension in his jaw increase, sees his nostrils flare and hears the sharp exhale. Pleased with the reaction, Harry grins lazily and rolls his head again, letting his chin almost meet his chest before he leans forward.

“C’mon,” he pleads softly as Zayn’s eyes burn into his. “I don’t want to do it like this  tonight . I need you to touch me and if you want this to be any good at all you need to get over here right now before I come just from the way you’re looking at me.”

Zayn makes a noise that sounds a bit like a growl and crosses the room in two strides. For a second he just stands there and Harry gets dizzy looking up at him, the reality of what Zayn could do to Harry if he wanted, what Harry would  _let_ him do, washing over him. 

Zayn pushes Harry’s hair back off of his forehead, grounding him with just that one point of contact. “You were good  tonight , so I can give you what you want.”

Harry’s hands are limp by his sides, every nerve ending tensed in anticipation. He swallows and it sounds too loud in the quiet room.

Zayn lifts his chin minutely, the gesture barely noticeable and Harry reacts straight away, is up and out of the chair so fast he almost headbutts Zayn. It should worry him how easily he can read Zayn, how ready he is to obey commands that Zayn doesn’t even have to put into words, but he’s long past the point of caring now. He drops to his knees in front of the mirror - and he was right about how soft the carpet is - and looks back at Zayn over his shoulder, grinning even as he tries to look seductively up from under his eyelashes. His fringe is in his face which he thinks ruins the effect slightly but Zayn is taking off his suit jacket so it must be working.

Once his jacket is off, revealing the dark shirt underneath, Zayn toes off his shoes and socks, loosens his tie and undoes a few buttons to expose his neck. His movements are calm and calculated and there’s a grace about him that’s intrigued Harry from the beginning. He comes up to stand behind Harry and Harry feels a thrill go through him as he realises Zayn isn’t going to take anything else off.

Sometimes he likes to see Zayn’s body, spread out beneath him as he rides him or leaning over him until all he can see and smell and taste is zayn zayn zayn but there’s something about Zayn being fully dressed whilst Harry is naked that sends shivers over his skin. He feels exposed in the best way, but also strangely safe, like he knows Zayn will take care of him.

Zayn’s hand is stroking through Harry’s hair, his touch less gentle than it was before as he surveys their reflection in the mirror, him standing, still in his suit, and Harry on his knees. It takes the tiniest nudge of Zayn’s hand against the back of Harry’s head to get him to fall forwards, bracing himself with his palms against the floor until he’s on his hands and knees, back arched and head tilted up so he can meet Zayn’s eyes.

“Head down,” Zayn says, watching him in the mirror. “Don’t look up until I say you can.”

Harry’s head drops as a shudder rolls over his body. The slight chill of the room is cool on his skin, raising hairs and making him feel all the more desperate for Zayn to touch him. From this position he can only stare down at the carpet and his own hands, unable to see what Zayn is doing.

He holds his breath in anticipation for so long he starts to feel slightly light-headed but then there are warm hands on his back and his breath leaves him in a long exhale. Zayn’s touch does a lot of different things to Harry, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever stop being the one thing that grounds him, relaxes and centres him, whether it’s a hand on his shoulder when they’re getting mobbed by paparazzi or a foot on his thigh under the table when they’re eating dinner in restaurants where the appetisers cost more than Harry’s rent and Harry feels out of place and childish. Or like now, when it feels to Harry as though Zayn’s skin on his is the only thing tying him to this moment, like if he let go Harry might break into a million pieces.

Zayn’s hands stroke up his back, applying slight pressure as they move over his shoulders and back down, skimming down his sides enough to tickle, so that Harry’s squirming by the time they come to a stop on his hips. He tries not to move too much, tries not to push back towards Zayn because he knows that won’t help, will only make Zayn take longer if anything, but it’s difficult. He’s feeling restless, as though it’s been weeks since Zayn last touched him even though it had only been yesterday that Zayn had held him as he got off against his thigh, Zayn stroking encouragingly over his back as Harry had whimpered and rocked his hips. 

Harry can feel his body shaking and he senses Zayn pause behind him.

“You good?” Zayn asks, and god, this is what’s going to kill Harry in the end. Not the way Zayn smiles at him or pins him down or buys him things, but the way he always checks, he always makes sure that Harry still wants this. Even in this untraditional half-relationship  _thing_ they have going on, Zayn would never take it too far with Harry and it’s overwhelming sometimes, knowing that Zayn would never break him, or even if he did, that he would put Harry back together again in the next heartbeat.

Harry doesn’t feel much like talking right now, the room too charged for him to want to break the atmosphere, but he hums to let Zayn know he’s fine, more than fine, and fights the urge to lift his head and reassure Zayn properly.

Zayn seems satisfied because his hands start to move again, pulling Harry back slightly, closer to him. He strokes over Harry's ass, fingers splayed until his palms can cup and grasp, thumbs parting his cheeks slightly. Harry feels breath on his skin and he shudders again, braces himself for Zayns mouth on him but it doesn't come.

He knows Zayn could have him here, on the edge and panting for release, all night if he wanted. It's happened before, Harry almost out of his mind by the end of it and practically sobbing when Zayn eventually let him come. He hopes Zayn's not in one of those moods  tonight . After the car and his little performance for Zayn in the chair he feels a bit lost. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes him ache for Zayn to finish him so he can collect him together again, wash Harry's hair in the shower and let him rest his head on his chest as they fall asleep.

Zayn’s hands leave his ass and Harry only just holds back a petulant whine, skin suddenly cool in the absence of Zayn’s touch. But then Zayn’s hands are on his cock and it’s hot and slick from where Zayn must have licked his palm, Harry struggling to resist the urge to let his arms give out and face smash into the carpet as Zayn moves over him, quick and sure. His breath is coming fast, sweat beginning to bead on his head and back despite the temperature of the room. Zayn is making quiet approving sounds behind him, the hand not on Harry’s cock stroking over his back again to calm him.

Harry makes the mistake of pushing back then, lost in the feeling and needing something more. Zayn’s hands leave his skin once again and he groans, hips suddenly working down into nothing. He doesn’t dare lift his head to see what Zayn’s doing but he thinks he hears a faint chuckle and then the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

Suddenly there are cool, slick fingers on him and he jumps slightly. Zayn shushes him, resumes his soothing movements over Harry’s back and circles his hole with one finger. When he pushes it in Harry presses his fingers into the carpet, wishing he had something to hold onto properly. Zayn works his finger in and out slowly, moving his other hand down to work over Harry’s cock again. Harry thinks it’s him that’s letting out the small sighs of pleasure but his brain’s feeling sort of fuzzy and he can’t really tell. He pushes back insistently against Zayn’s fingers in a wordless plea for more, needing the burn and stretch to focus him.

“Someone’s eager tonight,” Zayn says, amusement clear in his tone.

“Always,” Harry mumbles, voice breathless and head still bowed. Zayn gets the hint and adds another finger, both hands moving faster now, building up a rhythm.

The room is still quiet apart from Harry’s laboured breathing and if he can’t see Zayn he wants to hear him at least, some sound to show he’s as affected by this as Harry is. Zayn is quiet as he adds a third finger though, pushing into Harry slower at first before picking the rhythm back up, other hand twisting over the head of Harry’s cock.

“Zayn, I need.. fuck, c’mon” Harry is too close, needs Zayn to stop or he’ll come before Zayn’s followed through on his promise.

“Yeah, yeah, okay I got you” Zayn replies and there’s a pause whilst Harry assumes he undoes his trousers enough to get his cock out and pulls a condom on. “You can lift your head now, babe.”

Finally, Harry thinks as he raises his head and is hit with the image of them both in the mirror. Zayn pushes into him a split second later and forces a moan from Harry, his hands tight on Harry’s hips. Harry’s knuckles have gone white from pressing into the carpet.

Zayn waits until Harry nods at him in the mirror before fucking into him hard, enough that Harry knows he’ll feel it tomorrow on the six hour flight they have to catch. His hands feel big and secure on Harry’s hips, guiding him and using him in equal measure.

“Look at yourself, Haz,” Zayn tells him. “Watch how good you are for me, how well you take it.”

Harry goes slightly cross-eyed trying to look Zayn in the eye and watch the way he’s pushing into Harry at the same time. Zayn laughs at that, the bright sound breaking the tense atmosphere and Harry can’t help but grin back, wondering how he got here, in this expensive hotel room with this beautiful millionaire, having sex that turns from intense to giggly in the space of two seconds. He’s not complaining.

Zayn’s thrusts stutter slightly, his grip on Harry slipping so that Harry knows he’s close.

“Tell me who this is for, Haz. Tell me who’s the only person who gets to see you like this,” Zayn breathes out, his voice achingly soft in comparison to the words he’s speaking. Harry watches his teeth sink into his bottom lip in the mirror, neck damp with sweat and shirt sticking to him. He loves Zayn like this, when he lets his control slip, lets Harry see how desperate he is not just for Harry’s body, but for his loyalty, his love if they’re being grown up and scary about it.

Zayn is thrusting faster now, the angle shifting slightly so that he’s hitting Harry right where he needs it. Harry’s hair is stuck to his face with sweat, eyes fixed on the image of the two of them reflected in the mirror, small sounds being forced out of him with every movement of Zayn’s hips.

“Only you,” he says, meeting Zayn’s eyes and that’s enough to send Zayn over the edge with a choked off noise. He fucks Harry through it, rides it out on a groan that makes Harry’s toes curl.

As Zayn comes down he plasters himself over Harry, a comfortable weight on his back and breath against his neck that makes his hair ruffle. It's not unpleasant but Harry still hasn't come and Zayn's body heat is almost too much against his already burning skin. He lets Zayn have a moment though because he knows he needs it.

Harry hisses slightly through his teeth when Zayn pulls out, head dropped again so he's looking back at the floor. He feels hands on his shoulders, pulling him back and up until he's just on his knees, Zayn’s chest pressed against his back. Zayn’s shirt buttons are digging into his skin but one of his hands is around Harry, stroking over his chest and the other is back on his cock so the slight discomfort barely registers.

"Look at us." Zayn speaks against Harry’s ear and Harry curses, fighting to keep his eyes open so he can watch. "You're so pretty, babe. Look so good right now."

Harry moans at that, Zayn's arm around him the only thing keeping him from curling over and fucking into his hand properly. He knows he's close, can feel it in the pit of his stomach and the balls of his feet, in every patch of skin that's in contact with Zayn.

He drops his head back onto Zayn's shoulder, tiny pleas escaping his mouth that he's not sure are even understandable. Every nerve ending feels on fire.

When Zayn pinches one of Harry's nipples hard between his fingers he cries out, hands limp and helpless by his side as he comes. Zayn strokes him through it, muttering things that Harry doesn't catch, until he's shaking from the over-sensitivity.

He just breathes for a moment, feels himself come down as his sweat cools. He realises a little bemusedly that he has come on his chin.

His knees are killing him from the position they're in, even with the carpet, but he's content to just be held by Zayn for as long as he'll allow.

When Zayn does get up, he smiles, and if Harry's legs weren't already jelly they would be now. He falls back onto the carpet as Zayn disposes of the condom and goes into the bathroom to turn the shower on.

When he returns to the bedroom he rolls his eyes at Harry, who’s blissed out, eyes closed and limbs spread eagled like he's making a snow angel. It hits Zayn sometimes just how young Harry looks.

"C'mon," Zayn says as he prods Harry's side with his foot. "We should shower, I feel gross."

Harry makes a noncommittal noise. The carpet really is very comfortable and he can't bring himself to move right now. On the other hand, his hair needs a wash and showering means naked Zayn which is always a plus in Harry's book.

There's another prod to his side and be groans, opening one eye to look up at Zayn.

"Carry me?" he asks, smiling in a way that usually gets him what he wants.

Zayn looks exasperated but there's amusement in his eyes that Harry was counting on.

He leans down and picks Harry up bridal style, an arm under his knees and one around his back. The movement is so swift and sure that Harry feels like his stomach stays on the floor as Zayn lifts him up. He forgets sometimes just how strong Zayn is, how easily he can manhandle Harry. It makes heat flare lazily in his stomach again and he bites his lip as he wraps his arms around Zayn's neck.

Zayn grins and rolls his eyes again, seemingly at the general ridiculousness that is Harry, but he moves them towards bathroom.

Zayn does wash Harry's hair for him, fingers moving expertly over his scalp until Harry has basically melted into a pile of goo on the soapy floor. He's hopeless after that, the long day catching up with him so that he clings to Zayn to keep himself upright. Zayn seems unperturbed, happy to wash them both and wrap Harry in one of the huge white towels.

They brush their teeth side by side, Harry half asleep already with his head on Zayn's shoulder and getting toothpaste all down is chin. He can barely keep his eyes open so he doesn't see the unbearably fond look Zayn is giving him in the mirror. 

When they finally slip into bed, Harry is asleep almost instantly, head on Zayn's chest and breath soft in the darkened room. Zayn lies awake for a while, playing with Harry's hair and thinking over the day. He drifts off to the smell of Harry's shampoo and the sounds of the city outside the window. His last thought before he loses consciousness is that it's funny, how he accepted several awards tonight but this, right here with Harry in his arms, this feels the most like winning.

And if he wakes Harry up with a sleepy blowjob the next morning to thank him, well, what can he say? He's a generous guy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hey on [tumblr](http://www.zaynchokeme.tumblr.com)! i sometimes post writing there too


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